Papa's Little Pain Princess

by Zoe Blake

  Next, she could feel a tug on her back. He was pulling on her dress bodice corset strings. Winnie murmured a protest, barely coherent.

  “Hush,” he softly ordered.

  In short order, he had released both the bodice and actual corset strings. Lifting her up, he pulled her free from the constricting dress, leaving Winnie clad only in her short, thin chemise. Leading her to the settee by the fire, he bade her to sit. There was another quiet knock on the door. Archer again answered it without allowing the servant a glimpse inside. He returned with a small silver tray of items which he set aside.

  Without uttering a word, he gathered Winnie up in his arms and on to his lap. She laid her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. Taking comfort from his warmth, his strength, the musky blend of bergamot and brandy scent that wafted from him.

  Heat radiated and pulsed from her punished bottom, warming his already aroused cock. Just having those poor, chastened cheeks cradled against his cock was enough for him…for now.

  “Baby, I want you to open your mouth.”

  Winnie moaned and tried to turn her head away. She could not take any more from him. The last two times he had asked her to open her mouth he had forced her to confront her own shameful aroused feelings. She didn’t have the strength to do so now.

  “No,” she whined. “I don’t want to.”

  “Do as you’re told, little one.”

  With a petulant mew, but still keeping her eyes stubbornly closed, Winnie opened her lips a tiny bit. Surprised when a small rubber tip and not his finger was pushed past them, her eyes flew open.

  Archer was cradling her in his arms, holding a baby bottle to her lips. At her confused look, he said, “It is warm milk, honey and a little brandy. It will calm you down.”

  “Bu…” she tried to talk around the bottle nipple.

  “Don’t try to talk,” he admonished. “Just suck on the bottle tip. That’s a good girl,” he praised when she gave in and did as she was told.

  While it was odd to be sucking on a baby bottle, Winnie found it strangely comforting. She was not sure if it was the brandy and milk, the bottle itself, or being in his arms but she began to feel safe and warm.

  Archer pulled her chemise down, exposing her beautifully full breasts to his intense gaze. Winnie raised her arms to cover herself but at the warning look that flashed across his midnight blue eyes, she quickly lowered them. Rolling a pert pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he pinched tightly.

  Tears sprung to her eyes as her mouth gaped open on a silent gasp. Archer pushed the bottle back in.

  Taking in the perfect site of her enchanting dove gray eyes sparking with tears, her cheeks rosy and flushed from her recent orgasm, her breasts exposed and open for his touch, her small lips wrapped tightly around the baby bottle nipple as she dutifully sucked…Archer had only one thought…mine.

  Chapter Five

  When Winnie awoke an hour later, one look out the large bay windows told her the sun was setting. Disoriented she sprang up, only to remember she was barely clothed. The events of the afternoon came back to her in a humiliating rush. Furiously looking about her, she tried to find her discarded clothes.

  “Looking for these,” came an amused voice from across the room.

  Winnie spun around to see Archer rise from a wing-backed chair where he obviously had been reading. Tossed over the ottoman at his feet was her dress.

  Winnie fell to her knees, clutching the wrinkled mess.

  “Madame is going to be livid with me. I will be sacked for sure! I was supposed to return to the salon hours ago. She will never forgive me for wrinkling her dress. How will I ever explain the damage? How will I get it back on? It took the help of three of the girls to get me into it. Oh no, no, no,” she babbled in her distress.

  Archer calmly cupped her shoulders and raised her up. Leading her back to the settee by the fire, he bade her to sit.

  “I sent a messenger to Madame Minerva’s claiming the dresses needed additional alternations and that I insisted you stay to finish the task. I have a household of servants any one of whom I am sure is capable of ironing the wrinkles out of your dress. Neither of these is of the least of my concern, nor should they be of yours.”

  “They shouldn’t?” she asked, still rattled from waking up half-dressed in the darkened study.

  “No,” he said, toying with her now lopsided bun. Feeling inspired, wanting to see her hair down, he started pulling at the pins till it fell loose and free about her shoulders.

  Winnie twisted and played with the loose strands, abashed. She hated how boring and straight her hair looked.

  Archer was delighted. Her hair was smooth and shiny, glowing in the firelight. It slipped through his fingers like cool silk. “You are a delight, Winnie.”

  Winnie blushed at the compliment.

  Archer casually rose to pour himself a brandy.

  He was such a rich and powerful man, not to mention incredibly handsome. Winnie could not imagine what he saw in her. As strange, wondrous, confusing and undoubtedly wrong this entire afternoon was, in some irrational way, she didn’t want it to end. Her encounters with the enigmatic and dominant Lord Archerly had been the most exciting things to ever happen in her dull life.

  Suddenly wanting to give the appearance of a fashionable woman deserving of the attentions of someone such as he, Winnie tried to mimic a pose she had seen from the illustrations. Keeping her back straight, but leaning suggestively forward while tilting her hip slightly out. She threw her hair back and put her chin in the air. Deepening her voice because she thought it would make her sound worldlier, she said something she had once read a heroine say in a novel, “I will take a sherry, if you please.”

  Archer returned to sit by her on the settee. “It would not please me in the least,” he ground out. “I will ring for milk and crackers if you wish for a refreshment.”

  “Milk and crackers are for little girls!” she protested, crossing her arms like a stubborn child.

  “Precisely,” he answered, his tone offering no rebuke. “This brings me to our wager.”

  “Our wager?” she asked, picking at the lace edge of her chemise, avoiding his gaze.

  Tucking a finger under her chin, he raised her eyes. “Our wager,” he repeated. “As I know you recall, we wagered that you would enjoy your punishment and if so you would owe me another.”

  Winnie opened her mouth to protest. Archer pressed a long finger against her soft lips.

  “Do not insult me by trying to deny you became aroused from my harsh spanking like the naughty girl I know you to be.”

  Winnie lowered her eyes. Her blush deepening.

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  “Please don’t make me,” sniffed Winnie, becoming increasingly embarrassed by the entire conversation.

  “My dear, you know I do not appreciate having to ask you twice,” Archer warned.

  Winnie nodded her head. “I liked it,” she said, her voice trembling and barely audible.

  “Louder,” he ordered.

  “I liked it,” she said, still reluctantly.

  “Liked what?” Archer asked, feigning ignorance.

  Winnie’s mouth fell open, at a loss for words. She couldn’t possibly!

  Seeing her distress, Archer decided to help. “You liked feeling my hand paddle your bottom. You liked the hot sting of pain it caused and how it made your tight cunny tingle. You liked when I put my finger up your bum. You liked…”

  “Stop! Stop! Stop!” cried Winnie placing her hands over her ears. Unwilling to hear her own humiliation discussed so freely.

  Archer observed the flames, taking a long draught from his brandy snifter. Listening to the crackle of the fire and the quiet hiccups from the crying girl next to him. Turning in her direction, he admired again how beautiful she looked when she cried. Her tears made her eyes luminous and gave her cheeks such a pretty pink tinge.

  “I have a proposition for you,” he uttered, breaking the calm q
uiet.

  Winnie just nervously stared back at him.

  “Do you know what it means for a gentleman to proposition a woman?”

  Winnie nodded her head.

  Amused, Archer asked her to explain what she thought it meant.

  Obviously excited by the tale, Winnie leaned in as if she were divulging a secret. “Once I caught a peek of a gossip rag of Madame’s. It talked about the scandalous affair Prince Albert was having with that French actress, Hortense. I was disappointed though. I imagined a great mistress of a prince would have a more French and exotic name than Hortense! Don’t you think so too? I think she should have been Celeste or Mirabelle or Seraphine. Don’t you? It talked about the houses and carriages he bought her, oh and all the balls and late night card games and travel,” she said wistfully.

  “I cannot say I have given the name of Bertie’s mistresses much thought,” quipped Archer.

  Winnie covered her mouth in shock. “You can call Prince Albert…Bertie!”

  Archer laughed. “Yes, especially when I beat him at whist.”

  Winnie looked at him with even more reverence.

  “Now, back to my proposition.”

  Winnie was having a hard time concentrating. If it was difficult to believe this man found her attractive, it was even harder to believe he would desire her as a mistress! Mistresses were elegant, cultured and seductive. Winnie was none of those things.

  “My lord, you cannot mean to ask me to be your mistress?” she blurted out.

  “No,” he answered bluntly.

  “Oh…oh…I am so terribly sorry. How…how silly…I…I,” she stammered an inarticulate response before trying to rise. How could she have been so ridiculous!

  “Let me finish,” he charged. “What I want from you is far more intense, far more consuming than simply becoming my mistress.”

  Archer crossed to stand before the mantle. Swinging back to face her, he needed to explain his needs so that she fully understood what she was agreeing to…and that there would be no going back once she did.

  “When I said I was not asking you to be my mistress, that was not entirely accurate. I am proposing a similar arrangement, however, as a standard mistress you would have too much independence for my needs. There would be no houses nor carriages. No card games or parties. I would have you reside under my roof.”

  Winnie did not profess to know a great deal about the subject of mistresses but she knew they never shared the same household as the lord they served.

  Archer continued, “I would be in complete control of your life. I will decide what you eat, when you sleep, what you wear. There would not be a moment of your day that was not determined by me and my needs.”

  Considering how her work and Madame ruled her life now, Winnie did not see much of a difference.

  Seeing that he still had her attention, Archer warmed to the topic. “You would be treated as my own precious little doll. Like a child. Do you understand?”

  “A child?” she repeated.

  “Yes. The thought of treating you like a little girl who must obey me and submit to my punishments, pleases me.”

  Winnie felt a shameful stirring between her legs at the mere mention of the word punishment.

  “So…so, you would…would punish me?” she tentatively queried, trying not to squirm in her seat at the thought of it.

  Archer reached out to stroke a long, silky lock of her hair. “Every opportunity I got, and you, my little one, would secretly love it. If I recall, per our wager, you still owe me a punishment,” he teased with a suggestive wink.

  “When would we, we…ah…” she faltered, not knowing how to proceed.

  “Well, my dear, if you agree, we begin immediately.”

  “I would need to tell Madame and collect my things…and,” she babbled. It never even occurred to her not to agree from the moment she laid eyes on his lordship he had dominated her thoughts, it seemed only right he should now dominate her actions.

  “No, my little one. You would have no need to concern yourself with any of that. As your papa, I will take care of everything,” Archer soothed, very pleased he did not have to use more forceful persuasion to get her to agree.

  “My papa?”

  “As I said, I will treat you like a child, a doll. You will call me Papa.”

  At her hesitation, he commanded, “Say ‘Yes, Papa’.”

  “Yes, Papa,” she submitted.

  “Now that you have agreed to become my own little doll, there is no turning back, Winnie. You need to understand,” he cautioned, giving his final warning.

  His intense, ominous tone sent a frizzle of fear across her skin. She did not heed the warning.

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “Good girl,” he said with a warm smile. “Now I shall ring for your nanny. You’ve had an eventful afternoon and should take a nap before this evening.”

  “Wait, my nanny?” A nap?

  Chapter Six

  “You rang, my lord?”

  Winnie took one look at the severe woman standing on the threshold of the study and shrank deeper into the settee cushions. Attired in an austere black dress that covered her from the tips of her polished ankle boots, to the edge of her wrists, to the top of her neck. The unrelenting darkness was saved by a highly starched crisp white linen apron so stiff and so white, Winnie was certain dust was afraid to land on it. Her hair, once blond but now mostly white, was pulled back into an unforgiving bun. It was the nanny’s face which gave Winnie the greatest pause. The nanny had the strong features usually found on a man, giving her what some would graciously call a handsome appearance. It barely looked like she had lips they were pulled into such a caustic straight line.

  “Ah, Mrs. Bishop,” greeted Archer. “I believe your charge is ready for her nap.”

  “Very good, my lord,” she responded, barely moving her thin lips. “Come along, Winnie.”

  Winnie started at the sound of her name. She was not sure whether it was from the strict tone or the fact the forbidding woman knew he name. She sent Archer a questioning glance, but he had already returned to his ledgers and letters at his desk, dismissing her. Unsure she had any other option, Winnie rose to follow the nanny out of the study.

  “Wait! My dress!”

  Winnie swung back to retrieve the garment no less precious because it did not really belong to her.

  “You will have no need of that from now on,” said Mrs. Bishop as she grabbed Winnie’s hand and half dragged her away.

  Wearing her wrinkled chemise, stocking and gold slippers, Winnie was escorted up the main staircase, then up a second smaller staircase to the third floor.

  The moment they topped the staircase, Winnie drew back in shock and wonder. The entire third floor of the Mayfair mansion had been transformed into a massive open plan child’s nursery. One large wall was covered in a beautifully detailed mural of a fairyland castle surrounded by an enchanted forest filled with animals and little flying fairies. Along the back wall on either side of another set of large bay windows were two massive bookshelves, covered with stuffed animals, toys and fine dolls with silk dresses and real hair. In the center of the play area, there was a small table and chair set covered with delicate lace and the prettiest pink tea set covered with pale roses and little bright green vines. Next to it was a charming, buttercup yellow dollhouse filled with tiny furniture and a tiny doll family. It even had a small chest filled with extra furniture and decorations so the house could be decorated for each holiday.

  Winnie fell to her knees before the dollhouse. She especially loved the tiny vases of silk flowers that adorned each table. Her hand was harshly slapped the moment she reached out to touch one.

  “Ow!” Winnie exclaimed with an angry look up at Mrs. Bishop.

  “It is not playtime. It is naptime,” Mrs. Bishop sternly admonished. “No nonsense, little miss.”

  Mrs. Bishop led Winnie over to the other side of the nursery. That was when Winnie saw all the curious furniture. So new yo
u could still smell the varnish, it was all painted a matching white, decorated with tiny dancing bears holding daisies. The furniture itself was beautifully fanciful. What struck her as odd was the size. Obviously furniture for a child, including a crib and nappy changing table it was larger in size. Winnie felt like Alice from Alice in Wonderland after she drank the potion!

  Her musings were interrupted once again by Mrs. Bishop’s insisting hand. Grabbing Winnie by the wrists she said, “Arms up. No dawdling.” Mrs. Bishop reached for the hem of the chemise and snatched it up and over Winnie’s head. Winnie immediately covered her nudity, feeling ashamed and exposed. Mrs. Bishop slapped at her forearms, forcing Winnie to drop them to her sides.

  “I will not tolerate any false modesty nonsense, little miss,” Mrs. Bishop warned with a frown. “You will not cover your breasts or cunny. It is silly stuff and nonsense that prevents me from seeing to my duties and I will not tolerate it. Do you understand me?”

  Winnie just stared in wild-eyed confusion. What was happening?

  “I said do you understand me?” hounded Mrs. Bishop, emphasizing her question with a harsh smack on Winnie’s naked bottom.

  Winnie yelped and instinctively placed her hands over her still sore bottom trying to protect it from further abuse. This only served to anger Mrs. Bishop. Holding Winnie by the upper arm, she swatted her bottom several more times as Winnie tried to hop and dance out of the way.

  “What did I just tell you about covering your body from me?” Mrs. Bishop seethed.

  Winnie tearfully replied, “You didn’t say not to cover my bottom.”

  Mrs. Bishop dragged her over to a small stool. Sitting down, she placed Winnie over her knee. “There will be no sass from you, little miss.”

  Mrs. Bishop gave Winnie’s reddened lower cheeks several good swats for good measure. Lord Archerly made it clear all substantial punishments were to come from him, however she was permitted to administer light spanking to help keep Winnie in line. Mrs. Bishop had insisted on that point. Spare the rod, spoil the child. Mrs. Bishop was also permitted other disciplinary tools that judging by her charge’s petulant pout and sassy mouth, she was sure she would need to employ sooner rather than later.